


Black Chevy Volt

by bitterowl



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Crying, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 11:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7889971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterowl/pseuds/bitterowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Officer Erlich Bachman pulls over a big-nosed, curly-haired kid going over forty in a twenty-five, he finds it harder to give him a speeding ticket than he would have hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Chevy Volt

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt from [this post](http://bitterowls.tumblr.com/post/149576467536/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short).

It's just past noon when Officer Erlich Bachman takes a moment to look up from his laptop. It is only by chance that, when he does so, a black car goes zipping by, traveling at a speed that is definitely more than the suburban back-road's (admittedly paltry) limit of twenty-five miles-per-hour. He takes a quick glance down at the readout on his console.

Forty-six. It's go time.

"Ho _ho_ , motherfucker, don't think I didn't see you," Erlich barks to himself. He flips on his lights and siren, cracks his knuckles, and pulls out of his hiding spot, already gearing himself up for a showdown with an ornery Palo Alto suburbanite. "Not on my watch, you middle-class, organic whitebread piece of shit."

It takes a few seconds after he pulls up behind the sensible black Chevy Volt, sirens blazing, for the driver to even realize that he's tailing them.

"What, who, me?" Erlich mumbles in a high, mocking voice as they finally start to slow down. The turning signal blinks. "Yeah, _you_. Asshole."

The car comes to a rolling stop on the shoulder. After flipping off his siren, Erlich exits his car, adjusts his belt, and lopes over to the driver side of the vehicle.

Inside, a big-nosed, wide-eyed kid with mousy curls stares up at him like he's never seen an officer of the law before in his entire damn life.

_First timer. Fuckin' teenagers, think they're invincible until they get caught_ , Erlich thinks, then clears his throat at taps on the glass.

The kid jumps and fumbles at the buttons on the door before rolling down the window. He stares up at Erlich, mute, terrified, and probably—definitely—pissing himself in horror.

Erlich almost feels bad. Almost. "License and registration?"

The kid fumbles some more before producing the proper documents. "This—uh—this is my—uh—friend's car. I'm sorry. Is that okay?"

Erlich squints. Is this kid for real? "Yes," he says bluntly.

"Oh, thank god," the kid—Richard Hendricks, who is somehow in his mid-twenties—breathes in relief.

"Do you know how fast you were going?" Erlich asks before Mr. Hendricks can interrupt again, speaking with an air of importance. They never respond truthfully, but it's part of the I'm-about-to-fucking-bust-you-for-your-goddamn-hubris script that always reminds Erlich that he definitely picked the right profession. Well, that, and, like, traffic safety, or whatever.

"I—" the kid begins, then looks at his speedometer, as though it will tell him. "I think I was going forty. Forty two, maybe? Oh my god, was—was I speeding?"

Raising an eyebrow, Erlich blinks at him. However, the mumbly-mouth innocent act isn't going to work, not on him at least. "You were going well over forty in a twenty-five zone."

"Wh—what? Oh—Oh my god," Richard says, doubling over a little. He looks like he's going to throw up. "Oh god, I'm sorry, I—I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. I'm really sorry."

Erlich worries that the kid is high, or maybe drunk, but judging by the blue check button-down and high-necked sweater, this kid likely hasn't so much as touched a bong in his life. Probably some Grad Student Stanford brat from an overbearing, wealthy family, by the looks of it. But enough speculating—Erlich has work to do.

"I'm going to have to write you a ticket," Erlich enunciates, interrupting the kid's babbling. He flips through his ticket-book, glancing up at the kid.

"Ohhh my god," Richard says, his voice suddenly sounding thick and strained, his face contorting and his lip wobbling. "Ohhh, jesus."

Watching with horror, Erlich realizes that the kid has started to cry. He'd only had to deal with this a couple of times—crocodile tears from women, mostly, but never from a grown-ass man. "I—I have to," he says, sounding much less authoritative than he would have hoped.

Despite Erlich's wishy-washy tone, Richard proceeds to burst into frightened hysterics. "Fuck, oh my god, I'm sorry, I—I can't believe I'm crying, please don't think I'm trying to get out of the ticket," Richard babbles frantically, wiping at his eyes, but the dam has broken and the tears don't stop. "Seriously, I'm sorry, I just—I had a really, really bad week. Bad month, actually. I'm trying to work on this app, but—it's a big deal, at least I think so—but like, my friend that's helping me with it—like the business-end—he just told me he's in _love_ with me! I mean, I like him, but not in that way? And like, after thinking about it, I don't even think it's because I _thought_ I was straight? So like, I've been trying to work through _that_ , and—oh my god, why am I telling a police officer that I think I might be bisexual?" Richard lets out a delirious laugh, hiccuping through the tears. "Jesus, what is _wrong_ with me?"

Erlich's lowered his pad and is staring at him, his own big, stupid, bisexual heartstrings being pulled over this babbling mess of a human being. He knows he should give him the ticket—his own, admittedly flexible personal code of honor demands it—but he just sighs and stuffs the ticket book into his pocket.

"It sounds like you're having a rough time, and it sounds like this is just a first offense," he says, the words coming out as an exasperated sigh. "So, I'm willing to let you off with just a warning. Just don't do it again."

"What?" Richard says, Disney-blue eyes snapping up look at Erlich, full of sweet and youthful hope. Suddenly, though, his expression changes and he shakes his head. "Wait, no. No, I broke the law. You have to write me a ticket."

"Jesus christ, come _on_ ," Erlich groans, dragging a hand down his face. Is this guy for real? "I'm not gonna write you a ticket."

"I broke the law!" Richard argues.

"Yeah, well," Erlich replies, gesturing vaguely. "Welcome to the judicial system."

Richard stares at him, brows furrowed, face pinched and splotchy. He looks like his trust in the order of everything has just been shattered, but at least he's not crying anymore. "That's messed up."

Erlich shrugs impotently, but then runs a hand through his hair. "Listen. I constantly deal with people who do way worse shit than speed, like, every fucking day. You didn't yell at me, or lie, or threaten me, so seriously, it's not a big deal," he says, bending down to look at him straight-on. "You seem like a nice kid who's going through some shit right now. Believe me,I get what you're going through with your buddy. Like, straight-up."

It's Richard's turn to peer at him suspiciously. "You—"

Great, now _he's_ the one coming out to a stranger. What the fuck was up with this day? "Anyway," Erlich says quickly, before things can get any more awkward, "I would personally feel like shit if I gave you a ticket."

Richard pouts in reply, but nods, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Okay. Uhm, sorry for arguing," he says, sniffling. "But thanks. Honestly, I don't think I actually could have afforded the ticket if I got one."

Erlich cringes. Another tug on the old heartstrings. He knows he should say something like, "If you can't pay the fine, don't do the crime," but can't bring himself to. "It's fine," he says instead. "Just don't make a habit out of speeding and then arguing with police officers. Got it?"

Nodding, Richard gives him the tiniest, awkwardest little smile in the world. "I'll try."

Erlich's chest tightens at the sight of Richard's smile, but before he can say anything stupid, he straightens his back and puts on his metaphorical Benevolent-But-Threatening Cop Hat. "Now, Mr. Hendricks, if I see you speeding again, trust I won't be so lenient next time," he says, giving Richard a farewell nod and a commanding quirk of his eyebrow. "That is all. You can go."

"Th—thanks," Richard replies, but Erlich has already turned away, hiding a big, stupid smile.

* * *

The rest of Erlich's patrol passes without incident, though he doesn't doubt that at least half of it is due to distraction.

Even as he's standing in the middle of the produce section, aimlessly squeezing avocados, his thoughts are haunted by a big-nosed, curly-haired, sloppy-hysterical mess of a man-child.

Maybe that's why he nearly has a heart-attack when he realizes the person standing a few feet off, staring down at a bunch of half-ripe tomatoes, is in possession of the same curly hair and long, hooked nose. _Aquiline_ , Erlich's mind supplies him. _Kind of like a strange and beautiful bird._

He's shorter than he figured he'd be.

Shaking his head and letting out a puff of dazed laughter, Erlich is sure that this must be fate, or, at the very least, one surreal-as-fuck coincidence. He considers himself the kind of person who never backs down from an opportunity, so the path ahead is crystal clear.

He knows what he must do.

Without looking up from the avocados, he cracks a wide, crooked smirk. "So, Richard. Keeping your nose clean since we last talked?"

Richard knocks at least a dozen bell peppers onto the floor when he stumbles back, hand clutching at the front of his sweater, a look of absolute horror on his pointy little face. Knowing his type, he likely assumes that Erlich has changed his mind and come to arrest him in the middle of a Safeway. As he stares at Erlich with wide, impossibly blue eyes, Erlich can practically see Richard's boring, techie life flashing before him, probably regretting all the things he never did, because he was too busy being a, well, boring techie.

"Jesus," Erlich says, unable to keep himself from laughing. "I'm not gonna book you. Police Officers buy their produce at the Safeway, just like you regular people."

Sucking in a couple of deep breaths, Richard nods and shuffles awkwardly, not meeting his eye. "S-sorry. I just—I'm still shaken up from before. Sorry."

"Don't sweat it," Erlich says smoothly, bending down to pick up a couple of the fallen peppers. "Shit, I know my commanding nature can be..." He pauses, setting a pepper back down on its stand. When Richard meets his eye, Erlich quirks a brow and smirks. " _Overwhelming_."

Much to Erlich's intense satisfaction, Richard lets out a nervous giggle, his mouth tugging into a wide and genuine smile that makes Erlich's chest feel like the California sun has nestled inside of it. However, as soon as the smile appears, bright and beautiful, it's gone, replaced by an awkward, cringing shuffle and a tiny cough. Richard sniffs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Thanks again, for not—" Richard clears his throat. "You know. Sorry."

"Hey, like I said," Erlich replies, grinning a stupid, toothy grin, "just don't do it again and we're golden."

Richard lets out another nervous laugh and bites his lip—god, what the _fuck_ —in reply. He's staring at the ground again, like he can't stand to look Erlich in the eye for more than a couple of seconds at a time. It's equal parts frustrating and deeply, _deeply_ gratifying.

_Fuck it_ , Erlich thinks, and before he can change his mind, he takes a step toward Richard. "But, if you really do want to make it up to me, I'd be willing to let you buy me a drink."

Now, _that_ makes Richard's gaze snap back up, big, blue eyes meeting Erlich's, wide and confused and curious. However, his expression shifts to one of astonished terror, and when he opens his mouth, a tiny, strangled noise comes out instead of words. Without noticing, he crushes the corner of a red pepper under the heel of his sneaker.

_Shit_ , Erlich curses inwardly. _Fuck me_. "Hey," he says gently, holding his hands up, as though he's calming a frightened animal. "I'm just fucking with you. It's okay."

"I—" Richard stammers, lashes fluttering in surprise. It takes him a couple of seconds to recover, but when he does, he looks kind of disappointed. "Oh. Really?"

Erlich steels himself. One more strike and he's out, but goddamn it, he has to try. "Or _you_ could buy _me_ a drink."

Richard laughs, but it seems to be sinking in, even if he looks like he can't believe it. "I'm confused. Are you asking me out?" he asks slowly.

"Maybe," Erlich says, but then realizes he should probably cut it out with the ambiguity. "Yeah, I'm asking you out. Feel free to tell me to fuck off if you want to, though."

"Oh." Richard shifts his weight again, shrugging a narrow shoulder. "Well, what if I don't want to tell you to fuck off?"

When he looks up at Erlich, coy as hell, Erlich's insides glow warm and his head feels light. "I guess you gotta give me your number, then," he replies, the deep, raspy sensuality in his voice making Richard's face go red. _Fuck, I got game_ , Erlich thinks, raising his eyebrows expectantly as Richard stares up at him. _Fucking score, baby._

"Oh, uhm," Richard mumbles, remembering that Erlich had asked him for his number. He fumbles around for his phone, and after finding it—then realizing he doesn't need it—he tells Erlich his number.

Wasting no time, Erlich texts him, "Friday @ 8?"

Chewing his lip again, Richard glances up at him with a nervous smile, then texts him back, "K."

Just as Erlich is about to ask him if he has any preference regarding their little get-together, Richard lets out a yelp. "Shit. Fuck. I have to go. I was supposed to get Jared his car back by six and it's almost seven." He runs a hand through his mop of curls and only then notices that he's still surrounded in a small herd of bell peppers.

Erlich chuckles, irrationally charmed by what a giant mess this guy keep revealing himself to be. _Takes one to know one_ , he thinks, but says, "Don't worry, I got it."

Richard hesitates. "Are—are you sure?"

"No problem."

Nodding, Richard gives him a sheepish smile. "Thanks." He takes a few careful steps over the remaining peppers, picks up his basket, and makes his way down the aisle. However, after couple of paces, he turns around. "I'll text you later! Is that okay?"

" _Yes_ , it's fine," Erlich says emphatically, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "Go get Jared his car back. In one piece, Andretti."

Richard cocks his head, not getting the reference. Jesus, this kid is something else.

"Nasca—" Erlich begins to explain, but decides against it, just giving Richard a warm smirk. "Drive safe."

With an embarrassed smile, Richard nods. "Don't worry. I've learned my lesson." Glancing down, he shifts his weight again, then looks back up at Erlich, skittish and coy. "Officer," he adds meaningfully and Erlich swears to god that it's the single hottest thing that has ever—and will ever—happen to him in a Safeway.

Erlich opens his mouth to suggest that maybe they move their date to tonight—or to maybe skip the date altogether and just take it back to his place—but Richard has already taken off down the pet food aisle, disappearing between two end-caps of brand-name cat litter.

"Mother _fuck_ ," Erlich breathes. Once he's sure Richard is gone, he buries his face in his hands, his head reeling from what had to have been a literal fucking trip. Or a dream. Regardless, the surreality of the situation is enough to make Erlich unlock his phone, just to make sure Richard's little "K.," still exists, that _Richard_ still exists.

Shaking his head, he lets out a laugh, kicks the half-crushed pepper under the stand, then bends down to gather up the rest.


End file.
